Cynthia's Letters
by Pure Gamer
Summary: One-shots. Newest addition: {Ch. 3, Safe} "We don't always get what we want," she whispers. His face fills with sorrow, and he runs his thumb across her cheek, staring at her deeply, like this was the last time he would ever get to look at her like this. Maybe it would be. [Romance, Volkner/Cynthia]
1. Pointless

{Pointless}

Cold fingers against her temples felt nice.

The scene looked like one from an old novel, she thought; tall candles flickering, sending a yellowish light across the writing paper and quill spread in front of her. She enjoyed writing with a quill, even though it wasn't the easiest form of writing. It wasn't modern, and that fact drew her to it even more. She had mastered neat handwriting with it long ago, and frankly, it was her favorite.

Sighing, she took her hand away from her face. She began scrawling pointless words on the paper. Whenever she gave thought to it, it _was _pointless, but she could never attempt to stop herself from continuing. It was like something had latched on to her against her will, feeding her these words to write; alas, it was nothing like that. Knowing all too well what it was like to do things against her will, she understood it was of her own doing.

It was baffling, though, that she wrote this at all. Why did she write all of these letters—these pointless, _pointless_ letters? She concluded, sadistically, that there wasn't a good explanation. It was her mind, her truly ruined mind, ruined from the years of the life she had led, proving that it was wearing down; much like her heart. She would never admit to the latter.

The tears returned, never failing to splash on her page, creating obstacles for her to avoid. If she were to write through them in her writing haste, the paper would tear, and she would have to begin again. And she knew she wouldn't be able to write this again.

Leaning back, she reminded herself to sit upright. In the midst of her quick words, she had hunched over her desk, becoming consumed with her own thoughts and the process of putting them on the page. It was an awful habit, she knew, and that wasn't usually how she went about things. But this was different. Somehow, she allowed herself to completely let go of everything else, just so she could write. That, in the depths of her ruined mind, amazed her.

"Pointless," she murmured, near inaudibly. Wiping the remains of the tears from her face, she looked at the finished letter, and began to read the words.

_Dear You, _

_ I honestly do not know why I am writing you again…I know I start every letter off that way, and I apologize. Truly, this isn't like me, as you know. But I feel like things need to be said, and I can't say them any other way. _

_ I'm slipping. I'm slipping really hard, and really fast. But you know what the worst part is? I'm not done slipping. Does that make sense? Never mind, I know it doesn't. When you slip on a wet tile floor, it's so quick that you can't even recall the fall; only the part where you land, hard. I'm continuously slipping, and I have no idea when I'll finally and painfully land. Do you understand how difficult that is? Knowing something's going to happen, something bad, but you have no idea when, where or how? Maybe I know how, or I have an idea, and maybe I have an idea of where, but when? That's the big deal. And that's the answer that I'm completely clueless of. _

_ Goodness, I feel so childish. People look at me and they see this woman who knows how to handle these things. They put their faith in this woman, but for what? For that woman to run off and cry in a letter she never should have started writing? _

_ Why is it that I'm slipping? Why can't I handle this situation? Why have I been through so much nonsense and can't get through such a thing as this? This isn't the first time my position has been threatened…But it is, however, the first time _I feel threatened.

_ The truth is, simply, I am weak. They always say to just face it and admit your weaknesses. Right? My grandmother was strong…She really was, she was the person I looked up to. In a way, I feel she gave me my strength. I guess she took the strength with her when she left. Of course I'm not blaming her…If anyone I'm blaming myself for being weak, and now filled with guilt. All the years I wasted by not being with her, leaving her to become a trainer, not being there when she passed…She was completely alone in an empty home. I don't want to die that way. I would want my only family with me. Now I don't have any family left. _

_ That's okay, however, because I truly have great people in my life. Rowan, Jamie, Annie, all the people downstairs working away in an office; doing what they adore…Minus Annie, who I said could leave the League if she desired to. She did. It was obvious. She had mentioned to me before, a long time ago, that it wasn't a great feeling being demoted…And frankly that's what she was. She once was a champion here, living in this great room, making Sinnoh a better place. And she was demoted to being an advisor. I miss her, I do, but I'm really happy for her at the same time, happy she's back where she wants to be, in her hometown. _

_ Also, I have you. You mean more to me than you will ever come to understand. You've been through so much with me, and I love you with all my heart. I have for the longest time, and I always will. I know I will. I've never felt this way for anyone else, ever. _

_ And now I'm crying. _

_ The other night I had the most vivid dream. I dreamt I lost you. I don't know how, but it just happened. And I felt like dying. There was this pit inside of me, an unbearable pit, overflowing with horrible emotions. The emotion followed me after I woke up, and I wanted nothing but to be in your arms. You didn't know this, of course, or else I'm sure you would've run to me and wrapped your arms around and embraced me like I desired so badly. I've never wanted anything more in my entire lifetime. Needless to repeat, I love you, so much. Maybe one day, you can wrap your arms around me and embrace me like I desire so badly. And maybe one day, you'll help me up because I'm slipping. And maybe one day, I'll be the one demoted. And maybe one day, I'll see Grandmother again. _

_ But I have so much to worry about with the here-and-now, I can't possibly think about 'maybe one day' any longer. _

_ Forever, _

_ Cynthia_

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is something I wrote on a whim nearly two years ago, and just rewrote today. This references some from my old story The Champion's Beginning, that's why you may not recognize some characters briefly mentioned. I hope you enjoyed! I plan on eventually adding more letters - quick one-shots, similar to this one. But my main focus is my story The Leader's Origin, which is still in-progress, and I've been hard at work on.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Wicked

{Wicked}

_Where am I? _

Her feet glide across the black road. It spreads out in front of her, looking endless, and spreads widely to the sides of her. The gray and black sky swirls ahead of her, the layers upon layers of clouds and smoke all moving towards a cylinder of red swirls. High in the sky she sees black creatures, as big as dragons; big enough for her to see their unkempt wings and pointed feathers even from such a distance. There are mountains all around her, all dark and covered in naked trees.

_The trees are dead here, too. _

Her brisk walk turns into a sprint she doesn't understand. Why is she running? This is where she belongs. The road get smaller and smaller, the trees and mountains closing in on her, until she is surrounded and lost within the dead forest.

Suddenly the sky lights up red and she looks up through the bare branches. The whole sky is now bloodshot, with black smoke and hints of something white and gray. It was beautiful, she thinks, so wickedly beautiful. She belongs here.

She belongs here.

Everything smells of smoke. She looks down at herself: a dress moves fluidly with her as she runs. How did she not notice that she grips the skirt while she moves? Her hands are covered in black dirt and ash from the dress, she assumes, because it looks made from ashes and dust.

She runs with purpose, but can't figure out why. Is she running from something? She doesn't look behind her. She knows what she might see. She is afraid. This place is made of fear. But this excites her. Fear is nothing new to her, she is always afraid, but she can always fight. She can handle anything.

Her hair, curled with ash and twigs, catches the wind as it blows against her.  
She was all ferocity and darkness and frightening beauty. She moves with passion and certain stubbornness. If she sees herself in a mirror, she would like it. She belongs here. This is her true identity.

She leaps out of the way of trees—letting nothing slow her down. She knows exactly what she's doing, even though she doesn't know it yet. Someone steps into her path, startling her to an abrupt halt. Startled, yes, but not for long. She can handle anything. She knows that.

It was a man. All dressed in black, just like her, with an outfit also made from ash. His once blonde hair is black, and his eyes even more blue than she remembers. Her heart swells at the sight of him, and she wonders, hopefully, if he truly belongs here too.

He whispers to her. _Run. _

And she runs again.

~C~L~

She sits on a throne in a large, clean and black room. The floor is marble, reflective and sparkling black. Besides from her and her throne, the room is empty, and she feels nothing if not regal sitting there. She gestures, her strong yet feminine-looking hand catches her own attention. Her nails are long and glistening black. She thought she would never like such a thing, but surprisingly, she does. Her fingers are dotted with gaudy rings; one, her pointer finger, holds a coiling snake the length of her finger. It expands with breath, and begins to slither down the middle of her nail. She notices it growing longer as it falls to the floor, and then, it begins to grow in size and shape rapidly. Seconds later, it's as large as the throne she sits on, and its eyes as red as blood.

Its tongue flickers out of its mouth, like it's amused.

"Lea," Cynthia greets the snake.

"Cynthia Marie…" The name comes out distorted and half-mispronounced. She waits for him to continue, knowing that he won't fail to get to the point quickly. "Are you afraid?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not afraid of you anymore," she says.

The snake laughs. He opens his mouth, bares his large yellowed fangs, and chokes out an unexplainable sound. "That wasn't my _question, _though," she can see the madness in him even in his snake eyes, "So I ask it again, are you afraid?"

"Never," she answers, leaving him clearly unsatisfied.

"Now don't lie," says Lea, "once you were the good guy…And they don't lie."

Pausing, she looks him hard in his scale covered face, "Once, you were a very powerful being, with intentions to turn the world into your plaything, but you failed, because I was even more powerful. If you want to bring up the past, _snake, _we can."

His eyes twitch. Quickly, he snaps his neck out and opens his mouth wide, only an inch from her face. Cynthia doesn't flinch, even when he slams his mouth shut and makes a growling noise. "I always knew we'd end up in the same place," says he, while staying close to her. "Except you're the one on the throne, and I am the snake, wrapped around your finger." He laughs again, "But is it really such a victory for you? Doesn't that, in some way, mean that you were worse than _I was? _If you're the ruler here, you must have been."

He has her speechless. Her brain is disoriented. Suddenly she looks around, and realizes she has no idea where she is. Everything was dark and terrifying. She grips the throne, and opens her mouth to scream. Lea laughs, his eyes glow bright as he shifts from a snake to a human—which, in many ways, was much scarier to her than the snake. Dark wings protrude from his back, and he flashes a grin filled with venom-dripping fangs. "Are you afraid?"

She belongs here.

_She belongs here. _

And he reaches for her…

She awakes sweating, and gasps for breath as she scrambles from her bed. She thinks the only way she can collect her thoughts is by writing, so she quickly places herself at her desk to begin.

_Dear You, _

_Nightmares filled my sleep yet again. Sometimes I can remember them, sometimes I can't, but this one I can remember vividly. I was in a dark place, filled with black and red and smoke. I felt like I belonged. I felt empowered and strong. Why would a place of obvious depression make me feel that way? _

_And then Lea showed up, as a snake, and asked me if I was afraid. I told him no, because I wasn't, but then he said that he knew we would end up in the same place…And I would be the ruler, and he would be the snake. I must have been pretty awful to be the ruler of a place like that, he said. And that really set in, and in my dream, I became afraid. _

_I must remind myself that it wasn't real, and only a dream. I have a dark side, but I am no Lea. _

_This made me think to a few months back, when I was visiting Pastoria for the opening of the newest Safari Zone. After the ceremony, me and a few of the League workers who had accompanied me were sitting in my Center room chatting. One of them mentioned a fortune teller that lived right outside of the town, knowing it would peak my interest. You know I've always been interested in spiritual things. Of course, I had my doubts about someone claiming to be able to see the future. Psychic Types are the only one with those abilities. We decided it would be fun to go and see what the fortune teller, whether you believed it was true or otherwise, had to say. _

_With cheery hearts we left the Center, my group who I consider friends and me, and found a gypsy caravan; looking like it was plucked right out of an ancient carnival. It was just sunset as we approached, and as we got closer, the wagon lit up, revealing twinkling lights dangling everywhere. The caravan was expertly designed, it had large wooden wheels and a wooden body filled with paintings and etchings. Some were simplistic flower paintings; others were symbols I recognized as demon-wards, trying to look hidden within other designs. Whoever this fortune teller was, they didn't want the wrong kinds of spirits around._

_The steps in the front were painted with a story. The first steps painting was someone sitting with the fortune teller, a crystal ball placed in front of her and a tarot card in her hand, and her eyes glowing a bright white. The man looked frightened. The next steps painting showed the fortune teller lifting her hands, and an Alakazam appeared; the graphic indicated that the Pokémon was somehow giving the gypsy a vision. The next step was a large meadow filled with flowers and happy things, and a man and woman dancing. The last step was the man reaching over the crystal ball, shaking the teller's hand, and Alakazam within the shadows. _

"_Is that supposed to be a happy story?" someone asked. _

"_I assume it's supposed to give you hope that you'll leave with good fortune," I answered. _

"_Or you'll leave with Alakazam glaring at you, secretly haunting you for the rest of your life. Psychic Type's are weird." Gene said, making us chuckle. _

_We stood at the door. Above the archway was an etching of Unknown Writing. I recognized that it said: _We Protect Ourselves. _A warning to any bad spirit, I guessed. _

_We hadn't knocked, but the door swung open, revealing a tiny room. The wood paneled walls were also covered in paintings and etchings, lots of different pictures and stories and more demon-wards. I didn't get a good enough look at the walls to try to see any meanings. _

_In the back of the room, a large tapestry hung, and in front of the tapestry was a circle table with a crystal ball, and the fortune teller seated behind it. She peered at us narrowly. As she stood, the seat across from her slid out from under the table. _

"_Welcome," she greeted. She flashed a smile, her teeth very white against her tan skin, and met eyes with me. "Champion Cynthia, I am very pleased to see you here. I am Madame Tsura, the Light of Dawn." She paused, giving me a very unsure look. "Please, won't you come in and sit? The rest of your company may come in, as well."_

"_Pleasure to meet you," I announced as I led the way in. As soon as we were all in the small room, the front door swung shut, causing me to jump. Madame Tsura smiled at this, and watched me with her large white eyes as I sat. She smoothed her silk dress down before taking a seat, and readjusted her matching silk headdress; but still had white curls poking out. She looked much too young for white hair, but I didn't question it. "May I ask you a few questions?" I asked, instantaneously curious about her and how she does what she claims to do. _

_She grinned at me over the crystal ball and laughed. "No, no My Lovely," she reached her hand across the table, and I was hesitant to take it, "No?" she looked at her hand and then back at me. I shook my head. "Okay Love, I can do it without." She straightened up and gave me a hard look in the face; her eyes started to glow white. "I see…" she quickly places a hand on the crystal ball. The clear crystal quickly became cloudy, and then showed a black road and a swirling red sky…Just like the nightmare I had last night. Of course, at the time, that meant nothing to me. "…Great darkness, Cynthia My Lovely…Great darkness within you…" the crystal ball then showed a room filled with blood and mirrors. _

_The mirror room, from the visions and dreams Lea caused me to have years ago. Gasping, I clasped my hand over my mouth. I had thought I was over that—that horror of my life. But seeing my young self, in a ball gown stained in blood, blood running from cuts on my face and blood bubbling out of my mouth; that brought back things I thought I would never feel again. I watched, along with everyone else in the room, people who _would have never had seen or known about this, _as Lea, dressed in a ripped suit with big black shadowy wings, flew towards young Cynthia and hurled her into the mirrors, and we watched them shatter and the glass rain to the ground as my young-self screamed… _

_Watching that was weird, I felt a lot of things. But the next thing we saw was me standing above Lea, as three balls of light circled around me, then the fortune teller sucked in a large breath and removed her hand; the picture disappearing. She gasped like she was suffocating—but before I could react, her eyes went back to normal and she coughed until she composed herself. She gave me a look I couldn't decipher; one of horror, amusement, and wonder. _

_Shaking my head, I said: "How did you see all that?" _

_She waved me off. "You, My Lovely, are a wonder," she said, "Your mind has been filled with things only some of us could ever wish to see and feel and experience. It overpowered me," she pointed to herself with her extremely long metal nail—and I noticed her hand was wrinkled and bony, looking totally misplaced on her body. "It overpowered me!" she repeated, exasperated. She rubbed her face with her hand, and when she moved her hand away from her face, wrinkles and age spots had appeared. Someone behind me gasped, and her eyes widened, like she completely understood what had happened. _

"_Madame, your face…Your hands…" I said gently. _

_She was examining her aged hands. "My Lovely, don't you worry, I'll have this under control. Now…" she cleared her throat and looked at me again, dismissing her sudden aging. "You have a dark past," she grinned hungrily, "I love it. Love it! It's _so magnificent. _From what I could see, the things you've seen are simply marvelous. Unfortunately, you have a blocked mind. A spirit of great power put a block in there, to block out tricksters like myself," she grinned again, and I frowned at the sound of that. "I am not tricking you Love, but my abilities are tricks compared to the pure Psychics, I know you know that. You have too much knowledge on the matter. So, My Lovely, I can't see the deepest and darkest…And that makes me much too sorrowful. I would adore to see what our lovely Champion Cynthia has hiding in there." She tapped my head, and then caressed my face. "Lovely, Lovely," she repeated, then continued: "However, you are here for a fortune!" She readjusted her headdress again, placed both aged hands on the crystal ball, and then began speaking in a language I didn't recognize. _

_Her eyes lit up again, and her breathing became forced as she panted. "Cynthia…" her voice was strained, "there is a great evil…I see a great, great evil coming…It can't be stopped, its timing can't be any more perfect, and you will not expect it…And it will devour you." _

"_Is it Lea?!" I asked desperately. _

_Her eyes became engrossed in color, and her body starts to spasm uncontrollably. A voice blurts from the fortune tellers mouth: "…The Wicked One…" _

_She falls from her seat to the floor, and immediately I feel someone's hand on my shoulder. I flinch, and quickly turn around. It was Gene, fear bright in his eyes, "We gotta get out of here, Champion Cynthia." _

"_LEAVE!" Madame screamed, her voice sounding like two voices. We quickly made our way to the door. I looked back, searching for Madame Tsura, but she was gone, and then all the lights and candles went out; the room filling with darkness. _

_Afterwards, my colleagues had many questions about what we saw in the crystal ball, and I answered everything I could. They also asked me who The Wicked One is…And, I don't know. We started searching for an answer, the search only lasting about two weeks until we decided not to worry about that old, demented fortune teller; but we never did find anything on The Wicked One. I find it odd that, months later, after I had nearly forgotten about that adventure to the gypsy, I have the dream that she saw. _

_But The Wicked One would play a part in my life. It would devour me, overtake everything, be the disastrous disease which tornadoes through my life, tearing everything up and turning things upside down. _

_Maybe, I am The Wicked One._


	3. Safe

{Safe}

"Volkner," she says, stifling a yawn.

"Cynthia," he mimics her tone, which was, as he would put it, all-too serious yet completely entertaining to him.

She ignores him and continues. "I'm going to fall asleep," she states, a bit factually. "Do you know what you're doing? You look like you're preforming surgery on the computer."

Volkner shoves his messy blonde hair out of his face to give her a look she rolls her eyes at. "You could, you know, _not insult me while I'm helping you. _It really hurts my feelings and my self-esteem." His last sentence drips with sarcasm only Volkner could use. His sarcasm was so not serious, but it made Cynthia wonder if that was his only way of being truthfully serious, and his sarcastic words were actually straight from his very profound and, at times, pleasant heart.

Then again, Volkner was never one to have a hurting self-esteem. "Oh, right, I forgot you were helping me," there's some venom in her tone; he grins, and she hates that he finds her so amusing when she's aggravated, "I probably forgot because I didn't, _you know, _ask you."

He chuckles, and she balls her hands into fists. "You are adorable," he chirps, and then continues on poking at the PC console.

"Adorable? You are the only person to ever call me that," she murmurs, and crosses her arms over her chest in annoyance. She didn't like to be called something so childish. She was the Champion. She was strong and courageous, the first of her generation to take on the challenge of beating the Elites and, of course, the Champion, _earning _the grievous title of Sinnoh Champion. Even as a child, she recalls, no one called her adorable. They called her smart and independent, or respectful and mature.

He laughs again, making her attention snap back to him. "You're really upset about that?" he begins to place things back in the PC and move around some wiring.

"Upset about what?" she's already rolling her eyes, and he looks up to grin at her.

"Being called adorable? Because—don't get mad—you actually look even more adorable when you're upset about being called adorable." He reattaches the side of the exposed console and stands up, looking her right in the face. His grin fades to a smirk. "Done, Your Highness," he bows dramatically.

She doesn't give it away on her face, but she's amused by him. She's always amused by him. "Thank you," she finally says. She wants to add something, but can't seem to find the words.

It seems like that's what happens every time.

"No problem. Want me to escort you to your room, since you're about to fall asleep?" His own brand of sarcasm seasons the words.

"No thanks," she retorts, acting like this conversation was a waste of her time. But she didn't have to stay in the office with him until midnight while he worked on a broken computer. And she certainly didn't have to chat with him the whole time. Volkner was completely aware of this. "Do you want something for your work, though? I could probably—"

He cuts her off, "Cynthia, you know good and well the only thing I want from you." His tone is anything but sarcastic. The serious look on his face startles her to silence, and she takes a step back, finding herself up against a desk. She grips it with her hands. Her heart picks up when he walks—slowly, eyeing her and _only her_ with each step—around the desk separating them. He walks up to her. She feels a rush of emotions she didn't want to feel, emotions that confused her whenever she tried to scribble them in a letter, but she wasn't confused in this moment. She knew what she was feeling clearly, probably for the first time in her entire life, as her heart pumped in her stomach, and shock waves paralyzed her brain.

He reaches for her, and places a hand on her face gently. Her eyes close, but quickly flutter open again. She couldn't let herself enjoy his touch.

"We don't always get what we want," she whispers. His face fills with sorrow, and he runs his thumb across her cheek, staring at her deeply, like this was the last time he would ever get to look at her like this. Maybe it would be, but he scares that thought away. He moves his hand back down to his side.

Every being in her body regrets saying those words. Her hand twitches—she almost reaches for him and pulls him close—but she grips the desk again, restraining herself.

"You're going to be the death of me, Cynthia Marie," he says, and smirks, but there is no happiness or amusement written on his face.

She tries to be gentle. "It's just…I just…I have…"

"Yeah I know," he spits, bitterly, "It's _just_ you _just_ you have a lot on your plate, I get it. Adding in something would be too much, right?"

She nods, and says nothing in response. She can't trust herself to speak. If she starts, she might never stop, and what she would be saying would be things she's not ready to say.

"Yeah…" he trails off, and his gaze wanders. "It would be too much, and I'm not worth it."

There it was. The sarcasm that seemed so ironic it wasn't.

"Volkner," she begins. Her tone was soothing and kind. "That's not it at all."

"Save it," he interjects.

"What? Let me talk to you," Cynthia says with desperation.

"Seriously?" he gives her a look, "You're going to give me the 'it's not you it's me' spiel? Save it," he repeats.

"Save it?" she echoes, confused and aggravated and trying not to cry. She really wants to cry. She almost wishes she wasn't so good at suppressing it, so she could let it out right now and show him the sincerity and severity of her feelings.

"Save it," he replies, more casually, "for when it's true. For when another guy waltzes into your life and you can look him in the eyes and claim it's not you, it's me, and mean it. Save it." That sentence angers her more than she would like to admit.

Finally, she can't take the rush of emotions. She feels like she's feeling every emotion at once, and the only way she can let it out is by yelling: "It _is _you, Volkner!"

He nods, unfazed by her outburst.

"It's you and it has always been you!" He nods again, and motions with his hand, beckoning her to go on. She takes a step closer to him, getting into his face, looking straight into those blue eyes, and she continues. "It's always been your aggravating, irritating attitudes and your lack of seriousness! It's always been you dodging questions, and answering questions with questions! It's always been _you," _she points an angry finger at him and pokes his chest, "driving me absolutely crazy with how you find amusement in the most absurd things! It's always been you and your sarcasm and jokes, one's that are timed wrong but always seem to make everything better, _somehow! _It's always been you, with your sad blue eyes that never convey the emotion you want, but instead the emotion that you're _actually _feeling, whether you realize you're feeling it or not. It's always been you, and your ability to find everything infinitely tragic, and infinitely entertaining all at the same time. It's always been you, and how you look at me like I'm the best thing you've ever seen, and, even if it's just for a second, how that one look convinces me that I just might be the best thing you've ever seen. It's always been you—"

His arms wrap around her, embracing her tightly, but he kept his face against her, looking into her eyes. "Maybe," he starts, his tone matching her annoyed one, "it's always been _you." _

Even with her heart pounding and her brain filling with chemicals, she still clenches her jaw. "Are you really turning this around on me?"

"Yes," he states obviously, "now let me continue. It's always been you, Miss Cynthia, with your stubbornness to accept how you truly feel. You're too _stubborn _to even admit to _yourself _that you _might _have feelings for someone that you don't approve of. It's always been your inability to give yourself a break. It's always been you having high expectations for yourself, expectations that are unreachable and you refuse to see that, and drive yourself insane trying to fulfill them. It's always been you stressing yourself out, trying to be perfect, when no one is perfect…But it's always been you, who somehow or another makes me doubt that no one is perfect, because you seem like perfection walking. It's always been you, with your gray eyes that shine with wonder and amazement. It's always been you, with a courageous attitude like no other and the radiant confidence to match…"

She wraps her arms around his neck and stands on her tip toes.

"It's always been you…" he continues, and closes his eyes, "That I have loved with a love that I thought I would never see in my wretched self again." After he says those words, he opens his eyes, like he was afraid she would have disappeared from his arms.

But she didn't disappear, and he doesn't wait for a reply. He kisses her with fierce determination, and then more gently, before breaking away. She didn't want him to leave, she didn't want it to end, she began to pull him back, and he didn't resist. He couldn't resist.

"Volkner," she says, moments later, her breath a whisper.

"Cynthia," he mimics her, and rubs his hand over her back. "Don't tell me you're going to fall asleep, because if you _seriously _will be able to sleep tonight, you'll be the only one in this room who can."

She looks around, suddenly aware of how unaware she had been, but the room was still empty apart from the two of them. Meeting his eyes again, she feels like she could melt. A part of her feels alarmed at this feeling of exposure and vulnerability, but another loves it, and wouldn't want it any other way. "I hate to ask this, but…Are you leaving in the morning?" She knows the answer. She can only hope it will be different, and he won't leave.

"Yes," he whispers, and his eyes look so sad she has to look away. But he places a hand on her chin, and moves her face back to his. "I'll be back," he reassures her, so closely his lips are brushing hers, teasing her to a point where she can't say anything more, just kisses him again.

"I…" she sighs, and takes a step back. He's not alarmed by this. He simply slides his hands down to hers. "I can't promise you that anything will be different when you come back."

"I hope they will be, but I know that you can't promise me that. I just wanted this." He pulls her back to him, and hugs her tightly. "I just wanted _this,"_ he repeats, quietly in her ear.

She wants this too. She wants it more than she wanted anything. She wants him, and everything that accompanied him. His love and affection and however that came. She wants it.

We don't always get what we want.

~C~L~

She sits in her room and watches the night turn into morning. He was right, she couldn't sleep. Whether it was the flood of oxytocin or the burning confusion that rests in her stomach, she doesn't know.

_What now? _The thought repeats in her mind. Things between her and Volkner may have gotten serious before, but he had never _said those things _in the past, and that's what haunts her mind the most. He had never kept his feelings for her hidden, but he was never quite that vocal about it either. She was left dazed and confused. She had another month until he would return to the League, and what would she say? How would she say it? How would she know that whatever she says wouldn't be a complete mistake?

She wouldn't. She knows this.

She couldn't. She couldn't tell him anything except for what she always has. She nods at this thought, and thinks about how _safe _that makes her feel. It was safe to tell him what she always has when he puts her in this position. It was worded differently every time, but it was the same meaning, and same rejection.

But then, she feels ridiculous for wanting to be safe. Suddenly she wants to find that courage that Volkner told her she has, and the radiant confidence he spoke of. She hugs the blanket around herself tighter, and it reminds her of how nice it was to be in Volkner's arms. She felt the safest she has ever felt in his arms. She was engrossed in him, and was wrapped up in him and nothing else. For a while, it was just them, and nothing else in the entire world mattered more than them in that moment. Nothing mattered more than his eyes on her, and their lips finding each other, over and over; his hands on her, her arms locked around him.

For a moment she's lost in the memory. She finds her way out of the dreamlike thought, angrily stands from the chair, and drops the blanket to the floor. She sits at her desk and prepares to write. She dips the quill in the ink, and begins.

_Dear You, _

_My emotions are conflicting and I am beyond confused. I can't tell if this is the last thing I want, or the only thing in the entire universe that I want. Things were going well in my life. Everything was easygoing and I finally felt like I was in control. Then of course, he waltzes in, ruining that balance that I thought I had. _

_ Oh but I love him. I love him so much it overpowers everything in me and—_

She stops and scoffs at the last thing she has written. She let the writing take hold of her in the moment. Deep within her, she knows it was how she truly felt, and it was escaping through the power of her getting lost as her thoughts turned into words. But she wouldn't admit that.

She crumples up the page and tosses it aside. Oh, the times she had done that through the years was an uncountable amount.

Starting fresh, she writes again.

_Dear You, _

_ Today was an average day at the League… _

She couldn't dare tell the person of what had happened that day. She would soon start trying to forget it and erase it from her memory, like it never even happened. Even though, like all the others, she would never send this letter.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I apologize for possibly confusing everyone with updating the story and then taking the chapter back down. Ugh, Fanfiction made me angry today. The updated summary wasn't loading. Anyways! This was my first real romance venture. I like how it came out. I want your opinions! And what kinds of things would you like to see from these one-shots?


	4. Untied

{Untied}

A childhood habit drilled in permanently by her grandmother would be rising early.

As she draws the silky blankets away from her and slips out from their warmth, she drowsily—while being quite disoriented—wonders if Grandmother has gotten out of bed yet. It wasn't until she was up, and facing herself in a nearby mirror, that she realizes she doesn't live with Grandmother anymore. Grandmother lives far away, back in Cynthia's beloved hometown Celestic.

She runs her hand through her thick, blonde hair; watching as it straightens under her touch. Garchomp, her first and, admittedly, favorite Pokémon, huffed loudly in her sleep, drawing Cynthia's attention away. The large Pokémon had crawled up from the floor into her bed in her absence, and she laughed at the sight—not waking the sleeping Pokémon. She walks into the next room, her personal sitting room, and sees Togekiss, another one from her powerful team of Pokémon, folded up on the sofa. He lifts his head to look at her, his eyes suddenly bright and awake, and she simply smiles at him.

The rooms were dark in the morning. Yet, she finds her way to her journal and quill with no problems. Barefoot, she walks across her bedroom and to the large, glass door leading out onto her balcony. A thick robe hangs on the doorknob, and she quickly wraps herself up in it before going outside. She sits in the rocking chair, facing the beautiful sunrise.

The sky at the league was always pretty, she thought, but it was especially so during sunrises or sunsets. It was a view unlike any she had seen before, and she reminded herself of that in the morning, not letting herself take any of this for granted.

Opening her journal, she positions her quill and begins to write.

_Dear Grandmother, _

_ Lately you've been on my mind, and I'm missing you tremendously today. Reminiscing about my childhood has been something I haven't done in such a long time. It's odd that I used to constantly think about and compare things to that time of my life, and now, I'm so consumed with my current life that those thoughts are almost foreign. _

_ Things are pretty tame here, for once. No new challengers, all the trainers are quite young and new, nothing of dire importance, but I keep busy. Not leaving a lot of time for me seems like a logical thing, right? _

_ Because as soon as I start thinking about things, everything gets darker, in a way. So many things are just, simply, a mess for me. There are so many people that I need to resolve things with; one person in-particular. It's difficult, though, because I've kept so many things from this person, so trying to talk to them without telling them everything all at once (and chaotically) is seemingly impossible! So I just haven't. _

_ There are too many things of my past that I want to forget, but a huge part of me is proud of and never wants to forget those things. My past is what made me who I am, and for that, I can't dare forget. _

_ But - _

She crosses through the name over and over, until it is unreadable.

_But this person has impacted me in ways I don't understand myself. I wrote them a letter recently, but couldn't even find the courage to send it. Ever since, I've wanted to sit and pour all of my thoughts out on a piece of paper to send to them, but I haven't, and probably won't. One pointless letter, one that I won't ever send, is all I'm going to write. _

_ My dark past is one that only a few truly know of. Everyone in Sinnoh knows my rise to fame story, but not the deepest, darkest parts of it. And if they ever were to know, they would fear me. I truly believe that. _

_ What a horrible, awful person I must be. _

She gasps at the last line she wrote. She tries to tell herself she wrote that without realizing, that it was meaningless and she's not that person.

Yet, how could she be so sure? Her past _is _darker than most. She got caught up in situations that only a few knew about, even at the time. It wasn't her fault, and she's a hero; a shining star, magnificent to anyone who knows her. At least that's what someone would say to her, reassuring her that she's not a bad person.

_So many ties left untied. _She writes those last words before angrily tearing off the page.

Cynthia crumples the paper in her hand as she shakes her head, and murmurs to herself: "Never should have written this."

And she tosses the page off of the balcony.

Padding back inside to return her journal and quill, she remembers, unwillingly, what she had written: _One pointless letter, one that I won't ever send, is all I'm going to write._

Oh, but how it was left _untied, _all of her thoughts and feelings and things she wants to say, but feels unnecessarily forced to keep to herself. She can't keep it in. She must speak the unspeakable, and tie the untied, so she sits down at her desk, and again begins to write.

_Dear You, _

_ I love you. I'm sorry I haven't said this sooner. I'm a mess, a real mess, and I have so many things to explain and apologize for. _

_ But thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for still being exactly what I need. _

_ The weight of the things left unsaid is still heavily upon me, however I feel much lighter now that you know this. The list of things I could say right now is long, but I don't think I could handle writing anything else. _

_ I will write again. _

_ Forever, _

_ Cynthia_

She will write again, yes; but she will never send a single letter. All of them will forever be trapped in her desk drawer, piling up as the years pass by, as people come and go from her life, and as her position is threatened again and again.

Her past will only darken as time goes on, and the ties become undone.

* * *

**Note:** I've had this written and lingering on my computer for quite some time now, but never wanted to post it because I didn't like it. After rereading it, I like it a lot. It's short and vague, but I decided to add it today. The one I finished today (but started writing months ago) and was going to upload was not what I wanted. I'll probably post it someday, but not yet. Believe it or not, there's some sort of organized way I want to reveal information. HOWEVER, on the timeline, this is the "oldest" one-shot and letter, since it's the first letter she ever writes. The "newest" is the first addition, "Pointless." Fun facts.

Plastic Raven had said that they wanted more Pokémon in these little one-shots. I had every intention of fulfilling this request, and I apologize that I didn't today. The next letter will indeed have more Pokémon, and will be better than this. I wanted to put something out, since I haven't added an addition in a few months. I hope you enjoyed nonetheless.


End file.
